


Chili's: With a Side of Therapy

by LemonLimeSoda



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Banter, Biting, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Dave Strider/Vriska Serket - Freeform, Earth C (Homestuck), F/M, Homestuck - Freeform, Karkat Vantas/Dave Strider - Freeform, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, POV Dave Strider, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension, Therapy, Vriska Serket/Dave Strider - Freeform, Vriska fucks up all of Dave's plans, dave strider/karkat vantas - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2020-11-22 14:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20875643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonLimeSoda/pseuds/LemonLimeSoda
Summary: You've had some pretty bad days in the past. Being a Knight of Time in the world's deadliest videogame at the age of 13 isn't exactly the easiest position a guy can hold, after all. Yes, you could say with complete and utter confidence that you had indeed struggled a substaintial amount in your life time, what with you and your friends being in constant peril. Oh, and let us not forget the hormornal horrors of teenage adolescence. Yet, despite this factor, and despite having literally been partially responsible for the creation of an entire planet while under intense pressure from the concepts of Time and Space themselves, you think this might actually be the most stressed you've ever been. You are positively losing every last ounce of your sanity, like marbles spilling out of your ears, all over the goddamn place. The moral of the story, you suppose, is that you never should have invited Vriska Serket into your office, and you'd be wise to never do so again.





	1. Chapter 1

# ACT 1

# 1

**Y**our name is Dave Strider, and you really didn’t expect your life to turn into such a goddamn shit-show. Then again, maybe you did. Given what you went through in your teen years, it isn’t necessarily all that surprising. Being hunted down day in and day out by the man who you had looked up to as your parental guardian can do that to a kid. Although you have to admit, out of all the things you had absolutely predicted correctly, you really didn’t expect the world to end due to you and your friends playing a super lame video game.  
That one sure did throw you for a loop, if you’re being honest. You correctly predicted that John would grow a mustache (although you never would’ve imagined it to be that off-putting,) you predicted that Jade would get unsettlingly deep into the furry lifestyle (but never really expected it to be quite so irreversible,) and you absolutely hit the nail on the head in terms of Rose’s encounters with the otherworldly (that one really did turn out a bit more terrifying than you had expected though, didn’t it?) Never in a million years could you have possibly predicted what your life would become the day John Egbert turned thirteen.  
Now _that’s_ something you’d thought about long and hard on your more restless nights. Of all days, you and your friends had decided to play that shitty game on Egbert’s birthday- his _thirteenth_ birthday, for that matter. The year that separates the boys from the men, as they say. Yes, that’s definitely something that _they_ say.  
Before you get the chance to go any deeper down that rabbit hole of dimensional dread, your phone begins to vibrate angrily in your pocket. Chill out, little dude, don’t go gettin’ yourself worked up now!

> Answer that pissy little device.

VRISKA: Daaaaaaaave!!!!!!!! ::::)

On second thought, maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll reconsider your life choices for a while longer. That might be within everyone’s best interests.  
Your phone continues to vibrate.

VRISKA: Daaaaaaaave, I know you’re there!!!!!!!! There’s no point in hiding from me, I saw you post a stupid upd8 to  
your Twitter!!!!!!!!

Sometimes a man just needs to keep his beloved followers in the know. Was that such a crime? The good people of Earth C would probably shit themselves if you failed to post a status update every morning. It’d be all over the news, there’d be world-wide panic. You can see the headlines now; ‘Earth C’s Most Beloved Hero Disappears Off Social Media; Tension and Chaos Ensues’. What kind of an influencer would you be if you failed to give your fans a loving, thoughtful ‘good morning’ tweet?

VRISKA: 8nswer me, idiot!!!!!!!!

You decide that there’s no use in delaying the inevitable. You’re gonna end up seeing her eventually, whether that be within the next hour or when she comes breaking down your front door to get her money’s worth. It would likely be within your best interests to answer her now and lessen the amount of trauma you’ll receive later.

DAVE: okay fuck im here  
DAVE: what is it

A response is already being typed out before you sent the second message, but you decide to set your phone down on the counter while you grab yourself a soda anyways. If she had waited for those first two messages, she’d survive an extra minute of silence.

VRISKA: You’re l8, that’s what!

You glance towards the digital clock on your stove top, the display very clearly indicating that it was indeed only 8 am.

DAVE: nope i dont think i am actually  
DAVE: we agreed on 9 am

You crack open your sugary beverage and take a nice long draw of that sweet nectar. Who needs coffee when you’ve got the good Doctor of Pepper? No one, that’s who.

VRISKA: “Actually”, we 8greed on 8!!!!!!!!  
VRISKA: I would know, Dave, that’s kind of my thing if you haven’t noticed!  
VRISKA: Honestly, I wouldn’t 8e surprised if you hadn’t noticed. Those stupid shades of yours really do a great jo8 at   
fucking up your vision and your attention span.  
VRISKA: Strider’s just to 8usy 8eing Mister Cool to 8other paying attention to his closest comrades!!!!!!!!

Today was clearly going to be a very long day. You take another sip of your soda, taking a moment to scroll back through your messages with the bossy spider girl. Ah damn, it looks like you had agreed on 8 am. This certainly wasn’t going to look good on your track record.

DAVE: fuck i guess youre right  
DAVE: couldve sworn we agreed on 9  
VRISKA: Well, we didn’t!!!!!!!! Get your dum8 ass down here!

> Looks like you should be getting your ass down there.

Realizing you have no hopes of lessening the blow of the hellacious retribution you will undoubtedly receive for your mistake, you take your time getting your things together. No point in rushing if you were heading towards your own demise. Also, given you’re just too damn cool, you’re under no obligation to rush in the first place. As a matter of fact, you’re gonna purposely forget to lock your door and then take the time to backtrack and lock it, that’s how confident you are. If anyone claimed they saw you breaking a sweat then by god, they’re a liar. You would never dare break a sweat, not even when under hot pursuit by a spidery alien girl with horrifyingly sharp fangs just itching to tear into your skin.  
In the time it took you to picture some poor fool being ripped apart by Vriska’s sabertooth choppers, you’ve already managed to make the journey down to your office. It’s nothing fancy, being literally just a fucking room you rented out from a nearby office building. Hey, the point is that it gets the job done. No way in hell were you going to be handing out your personal address to your clients, and given Vriska is your _only client…_  
Yeah. Just no fucking way, man.  
You enter the gloomy cube of a building, your heart filled with the dread of a soldier being deployed back to the front-lines, never to see his loving wife and son ever again. Your ascent up the cold, barren, concrete staircase is rather poetic, you think to yourself. It’s reminiscent of a lost soul’s journey to Heaven, and the cold unknown they must travel through along the way. Except in your case, you’re ascending the staircase to Hell— because apparently Hell moved up a floor— wherein you will be met by Satan herself in the body of a feral, young adult, alien female. But hey, what else would you expect of Satan?

VRISKA: Dave, what a pleasant surprise! I thought for sure I’d have to drag your ass into this depressing 8uilding  
myself.

You let out a breath you never noticed you’d been holding. A few little chess dudes glance over at you and your strange client with looks of great unease.

DAVE: well i couldnt have you running around the whole damn neighborhood screaming out all of your traumas to innocent   
passersby to make up for lost time now could i  
DAVE: wouldnt be very cool of me to let that whole thing transpire

Of course, Vriska is standing inconveniently close to the door with the most obnoxious smirk you’ve ever seen, and— being the cool dude you are— you absolutely refuse to ask her to step out of the way. When you’ve got such a massive aura of pure radness radiating around you at all waking hours of your life, you just take what you goddamn please. Trying to keep as much distance between yourself and the arachnabitch as is physically possible, you slide past her and unlock your office door. Yeah, the chess bros are certainly getting uncomfortable now; they’re practically vibrating with uncertainty. Join the club, little dudes. If you could back out at this point, you absolutely would. Then again, no you fucking wouldn’t, because you’re Dave Strider.

VRISKA: Hurry uuuuuuuup! I don’t have all day, y’know!  
DAVE: can you chill for like  
DAVE: even just one second

With that distasteful interjection, the door swings open to reveal a small office space that would be considered about as inviting as an unlit alleyway your drunk ass stumbles across at 3 am on your way back home from the bar. You flip the lights on, which helps very little in terms of how pleasant the room is, but at least you can actually see your surroundings now. You’re certain that if you had said that out loud, Vriska would’ve made a devastating comment relating to your sick shades.  
You take a moment to set down your stuff at your desk while Vriska hums to herself, making herself comfortable on the snow-white futon. God, what a horrible color choice that is. You’re either gonna have to replace that piece of trash in the future or tell all your clients to remove their shoes before getting comfy. And again, your only client is Vriska, so you don’t see that option happening. As a matter of fact, she’s got her dusty converse kicked up all high and mighty on the cushions as we speak. So yeah, that plan tanked.  
Your hopes all but crushed, you shuffle over to your space heater and turn that motherfucker up before taking your seat in the loveseat just diagonal of Vriska. Brandishing your trusty pen and notepad, you turn your attention to your client.

DAVE: so vriska  
DAVE: what seems to be the problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am never going to figure out these formatting errors. I give up.


	2. Chapter 2

# 2

**T**he spidery lass before you takes a few moments to examine her claws— yes, her claws— in silence. For someone who had been bitching nonstop about her valuable time and how it need not be wasted for the last hour at least, she sure was taking her fucking time. You lean back in your chair, deciding that it was best not to let her get your goat. For that matter, you wouldn’t let her get her grubby hands on any of your barnyard animals. Those animals are your most prized possessions, goddamn it. T’were only last year when your most beloved pig, Lottie, won herself first prize at the annual— 

VRISKA: Oh my G8D, sh8t up a8out your weird h8man “pigs”!!!!!!!!

You blink out of your comedic stupor, instead finding yourself questioning how the hell Vriska knew you were talking about weird human pigs. Like the genius you are, you voice your confusion. 

DAVE: ok so how they hell did you know i was-  
VRISKA: I can read minds, DAVE, get with the program. Everyone knows this!

You absolutely did not know this. Did John know about this? Why wouldn’t he tell you that. You’re pretty sure that’s absolutely breaking one of the many sacred laws of broship. You’ll have to have a little chat with Egbert later. He knew damn well you needed all the advice you could get when it came to dealing with this…  
Vriska is shooting you a dangerous glare.  
You decide to stop thinking for a moment. As always, it seems using your words would be better, master wordsmith that you are. 

DAVE: all human pigs and mind-reading aside  
DAVE: what can i do ya for

The cerulean girl before you leans back into the futon, her arms draped over the back all chill-like. Yep, it looks like this chick means serious business. 

VRISKA: You can “do me for” exactly what I’m paying for!  
VRISKA: How a8out you... “Psychoanalyze” me, doctor? :::;)

She ends her request with a flirtatious wink, and you swear you could even hear that wink in her voice. That’s not a thing that can happen though, so you ignore it. You shuffle around in your seat a little, getting comfy, really settling down for this off-roading trip you’re about to take. 

DAVE: sure thing vriska lets talk about your violent tendencies and what they stem from  
VRISKA: Stems from not getting enough dick!

You nod, jotting this note down in a way that absolutely gushes with irony. Vriska is absolutely unperturbed by your attempts to brush off her salacious behavior. Really though, what else did you expect? She’s a simple girl: she sees what she wants, and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t break every last bone in other people’s bodies while trying— and succeeding— to get what she desires. In a way, you almost admire these traits. But not enough to risk your own neck, no fucking way. 

DAVE: and how do you think you could deal with these urges

She takes this admittedly very poorly phrased inquiry as a nod of approval to slide her jacket off. Her lithe fingers tug at the material in a teasing manner, it’s clear she’s taking her time, and oh god you’re thinking in fanfiction. What the fuck. 

VRISKA: Weeeeeeeell…  
VRISKA: I think I can rectify that now, how a8out you, doc? :::;)

As is typical for a Strider, your face remains stoic as all hell. Seriously, you’re like a goddamn royal guard of the Queen herself up in this bitch, stupid fuzzy hat and all. Ignoring how clammy your hands have gotten because what the hell, you adjust your position and tap your pen against your chin thoughtfully. 

DAVE: ok how about i ask you this instead  
DAVE: what do you think are some healthy ways of dealing with this frustration 

Throwing her jacket off to the side of the couch, Vriska stands up, crossing her arms and pouting like the little bitch baby she absolutely is. She starts taking her shirt off with reckless abandon, this process looking a lot more stupid and a lot less sexy in comparison to the whole jacket thing. 

VRISKA: Um, may8e getting dicked down 8y a virile stud????????

Her shirt hits you in the face with a hearty thwack. You spit the shirt out of your mouth, graceful as always. You raise a hand to your chest and throw on the best ‘offended mother’ face you can muster. 

DAVE: how could you possibly do this  
DAVE: after all of the coping mechanisms ive advised you to try out this is what you turn to huh  
VRISKA: Huh???????? Wh8t do you mean???????? I’m expressing myself in a non-violent m8nner and including those ar8und   
me!  
VRISKA: 8n’t that what you said????????  
DAVE: aw fuck  
DAVE: i guess youre right

You think over your potential courses of action for a moment. Assuming you put a stop to this now, you’d save your dignity; and really, what more do you have other than your dignity? Well, your devilishly good looks aside. That being said, you’d also lose both of your eyes. Maybe even your liver. God forbid she stole your luscious lips. If you didn’t put a stop to this, you would have to live with the image of Vriska’s alien genitalia for the rest of your life. You’d keep your eyes, sure, but at what cost? You’d probably just want to dissolve them with bleach afterwards anyways.  
You open your mouth to put a stop to this shit show immediately, but before you can bring yourself to say those fated words, the words which would undoubtedly result in your eyes being torn straight outta their sockets, you remember one crucial factor to all of this.  
You remember the rating system.  
Your co-worker (you can’t remember his name for the life of you, nor do you know if he has a name in the first place, given he’s a chess person,) had given you a four-out-of-five star review which you’re pretty sure was an absolute pity rating. Your very first session of your professional career as a therapist had been with [REDACTED], and it had gone— and you’re ashamed to admit this— horridly. You could barely make conversation with the little dude, and you’re pretty sure you’re the one who ended up rambling about sports on Earth C or some stupid shit like that. Even thinking about it now makes you slump your shoulders in shame. If you weren’t such a cool dude, you’d probably be throwing a fit right now.  
With a 4-star rating, you pass as an okay-to-sufficient therapist. And that’s cool or whatever, but Rose might have something to say in reference to your business-running-skills if that rating goes down any further. Something rather snarky. Dare you say, she might say something… uncool. No way in hell are you gonna give her any more of a reason to get on your ass at one of her fancy dinner parties. 

> Well, cool kid, go for the kill.

DAVE: well go ahead then


	3. Chapter 3

# 3

**Y**ep, Vriska is spreading her legs. There are absolutely no undergarments present under her skinny jeans; nope, nothing but hot, slick alien privates. You question for a brief moment why this was not immediately noticeable in the first place, given what you’ve been indirectly told about troll arousal.  
The appearance of said genitals can only be described as non-descript, and not worth noting in a written format. It’s not necessarily that it’s the grossest thing you’ve ever seen, but you just aren’t quite sure what you were expecting. You’re not sure if you want to vomit or if you want to scream. Hell, you might as well do both. That was certainly your plan internally, but luckily your killer Strider instincts saved you from such an embarrassing display. Either option would certainly ruin the mood, and god forbid you of all people did that.  
But also, god forbid you of all people didn’t make an astute observation that strays away from the topic at hand.

DAVE: what so youve just been freeballing this whole time  
DAVE: damn  
DAVE: i feel like ive been set up

Vriska narrows her eyes at you, giving you a look which would very heavily suggest you’re the dumbest of asses she has ever had the displeasure of conversing with.

VRISKA: I don’t have 8alls.

And that’s all the description you’ll get. 

VRISKA: Can’t free8all if you don’t have any to 8e freed to 8egin with!  
DAVE: i guess thats accurate  
DAVE:_ i guess_

You find yourself upsettingly entranced by the cerulean’s genitalia. Why does it look like that? Why is it doing that? Does it really logically make sense that it’s the color it is? Is this the same for all trolls? You’d have to assume that’s the case. Your thirst for knowledge is absolutely exhausting, especially in scenarios like these. As you’re sure would be the case for literally anyone else, you’d rather be _thinking_ of anything else. 

DAVE: why is your junk doing that  
VRISKA: Doing wh8t???????? It always does that!  
DAVE: huh

You can’t help but pull at the elastic of your own boxers and examine your own junk. 

DAVE: huh

Vriska looks positively done with your shit- more so than usual. Before you can even consider apologizing profusely for your standoffish behavior out of fear for your own well-being and potential 5-star rating, the naked troll before you slides off of the futon like some sort of seductive octopus and crawls over to your chair. She’s between your legs now, and you realize that you should probably be freaking out a lot more than you are, given what’s lining her mouth and the distance of those in comparison to your delicate bits. Nevertheless, you do your best to show absolutely nothing. You are the void.  
When she reaches up to pull off your shades, however, you almost instinctively jerk backwards in your seat just the slightest bit. Sure, everyone knows what your peepers look like, it’s not a goddamn secret at this point, but direct eye-contact just isn’t something a man can throw away like yesterday’s takeout. The eyes are the windows to the soul, as they say, and you’re not exactly ready to take this non-existent relationship to the next level, thank you very much.  
You realize Vriska is staring at you expectantly, your sunglasses now discarded to god knows where. That’s a problem for future Dave, you suppose. You can already feel the bastard flipping you off. 

DAVE: damn i just got lost in thought  
DAVE: i was thinking about what i needed to pick up from the store on my way home  
DAVE: what a life i lead

Sick save, bro.

VRISKA: W8, what do you need from the store.  
VRISKA: Do you need lu8e? For your nondescript human genitals?  
VRISKA: 8ecause I have some! :::;)  
DAVE: well damn i wasnt gonna get into that whole can of nondescript human genitals but yes i do as a matter of fact  
DAVE: also like  
DAVE: koolaid and shit

She waddles away from your crotch and searches for her recently discarded pants, digging around in the pockets for a moment. With a satisfied hum, she pulls out a small bottle filled with an oddly colored substance that you’d rather not come into contact with directly. Waddling back between your legs, she presents the suspicious bottle to you. 

VRISKA: Well, how a8out I help you forget a8out your lack of human “Cool Aid” 8y replacing it with........  
VRISKA: My nondescript, non-8all-having troll genitalia???????? :::;)  
DAVE: i dont know i mean  
DAVE: i kinda need to get my koolaid fix ya dig  
VRISKA: Fuck you!!!!!!!!  
VRISKA: W8.  
VRISKA: Fuck me!!!!!!!!

Before you can even begin to poke fun at her shitty save, the spidery seductress is already climbing into your lap with alarming speed, her nondescript genitalia showing a great deal of interest in terms of where this action is going. How you could tell her junk was thinking that, you have no idea, and that’s something you’re going to forget as soon as you can. Repression is a beautiful thing.  
Just as you’re about to say the most humorous of quips in response to this wacky situation, Vriska is already five steps ahead of you. She’s really just cutting straight to the point, cutting out all the unnecessary bullshit. Her hand is slipping down your pants, searching for your own nondescript package like some sort of bloodhound full of lust only a human can satisfy, and the moment those well-manicured claws graze over their target, you swear you can feel your soul being ejected out of its mortal shell. In an effort to calm the fuck down, you ask yourself if having sex with Spiderman would be anything like this. You’re not sure why this would ever calm you down, but it does give you something else to focus on in that moment. 

DAVE: what the fuck is happening  
VRISKA: I’m........  
VRISKA: Uh.  
VRISKA: I’m getting my 8ehavioral cure! :::;)

She goes silent for a moment— likely evaluating the situation she has placed herself in for the first time all day— as is evident by her furrowed brows and the indignant look in her eyes. 

VRISKA: W8, not again! F8ck you, you’re topping!!!!!!!!  
DAVE: aw damn am i  
DAVE: well fuck im not sure if i shouldve taken on such a role seems like a lot of responsibility

As you should’ve expected by this point, Vriska is not going to take ‘No,’ ‘I don’t know about this,’ nor ‘Fuck no,’ for an answer. She thrusts the ‘lube’ into your hands, her fangs bared. You stare at this disturbing item for more time than is necessary, but what can you say, you’re really stalling for time here, and absolutely never going to let this shitty blue raspberry alien toothpaste come anywhere near your dick, which you may or may not have. You squint at the label. You’d say your trust issues in this situation are pretty damn well-founded. 

DAVE: so what the fuck is this  
DAVE: its written in simlish or something  
DAVE: is this that shit i always see middle school kids scarfing down on their way back from the 7-11  
DAVE: candy toothpaste or whatever  
DAVE: is this pre-bottled troll jizz  
DAVE: i thought buckets were the hot thing with you guys  
VRISKA: It’s lu8e, dum8ass!!!!!!!!  
DAVE: are you sure  
DAVE: not saying i dont trust you but i absolutely dont trust you  
DAVE: im not keen on dealing with a UTI or whatever  
VRISKA: What’s a UTI???????? Are those the weird 8umps Jade has on her nondescript canine genitals?  
DAVE: oh my god  
DAVE: i cant deal with this  
DAVE: this is not the sort of shit i signed up for  
DAVE: if id known this was going to be the topic of conversation for today i wouldnt have bothered showing up wouldve   
just taken the chances of you hunting me down and killing me in my own home  
DAVE: also when did jade show you her-  
DAVE: yknow what nevermind  
VRISKA: Who hasn’t seen Jade’s 8umpy canine sex organs????????  
VRISKA: You’re not getting up until you tell me wh8t a UTI is!  
DAVE: no fuck off  
DAVE: do your own research  
DAVE: ask rose or something im sure shed be happy to explain  
VRISKA: I’m not getting out of your lap until you tell me what this human concept of a “youtie-eye” is!

Growing increasingly desperate to get this horny, murderous spider woman off of your now blue tinted khakis— which will never fucking wash out by the way; another good pair of pants lost to ever dreaded alien bodily fluids—, you decide to take a new approach to this shit show. You lean in close to the cerulean, cup her startlingly warm cheeks with your hands which are definitely not shaking, and stare deep into her animalistic eyes. You hesitate briefly, relishing the silence and also receiving a pretty decent quantity of amusement from Vriska’s startled glare and bated breath, then… 

> Whisper all the wrong words like a douchebag.

DAVE: fuck you  
DAVE: get off of me 

Being the dumb-ass you are, you didn’t account for literally any reactions this rabid girl might demonstrate, especially not the blatantly violent ones. And jesus christ, was that a real lapse in your judgment, because the next thing you know, Vriska’s dagger-like teeth are sinking into the bridge of your nose. While you are a Strider, which entails being utterly unphased by even the uncoolest of stuff, there is basically no fucking way you couldn’t react in some way to this most unfortunate turn of events. Your fight-or-flight reflexes immediately set off, and since you’re not a fucking pussy and would never run from a fight, you instinctively knee Vriska right in her nondescript sex organs, hissing through your teeth when the pain finally hits you in full-force. 

DAVE: okay  
DAVE: this fucking sucks get off of me 

Vriska rolls off of your lap and onto the floor with a squeal of pain, nevertheless looking pretty damn pleased with herself, because of course she is. You hope your blood tastes positively delectable.  
Holding one hand over your nose as copious amounts of blood drip from your wound, you stand up and make your way over to your desk without another word, throwing Vriska her shirt while you’re at it. As a Knight of Time, efficiency is ever so important to you.  
You scour your desk in search of a bandaid or literally anything that can prevent anymore bodily fluids from staining your khakis— not that you could possibly salvage them at this point—, eventually coming across a stray one. It’s puny as hell, probably won’t do much to help in the long run, but you’ll take what you can get. You are tired in all senses of the word, which is to say you could be hit by a car in the near future and still feel less emotional and physical pain than you’re in now. 

VRISKA: W8, Dave.

Groaning, Vriska turns to look towards you, her shirt still obscuring her face. You spot your shades and put them back on— reunited once again. You sigh heavily. 

DAVE: whats up

The naked troll, now attempting to sit herself up properly, falls silent. She glances around the office a bit and, upon spotting the rest of her clothes, she crawls towards the futon, sitting down on the soft white cushions as if her alien genitals were not wholly exposed. 

VRISKA: ........ When’s our next session?  
DAVE: i dont know dude when do you want it to be  
DAVE: im pretty open all week

Without a single change in her expression, Vriska stands up, slinging her shirt over her shoulders. She doesn’t put on any of her other discarded items of clothing, no, instead she cocks a hip as she examines herself in the full-body mirror that you have in your office for some goddamn reason. When did that mirror get here? You sure didn’t buy that yourself. Vriska makes a comment relating to how sexy she looks and, without another word, she unlocks the door and exits the building.  
You stare at the door, now ajar, your head practically spinning. You have no goddamn idea why you were honest, given what just went down. You should’ve really been pulling out every damn excuse in the book, but that’s all in the past now. A future version of yourself never came to save you though, so this must just be a situation that future you didn’t deem worthy of his presence. How fucking unfortunate. What an asshole, that guy.  
You stand alone in your office, blood seeping through the bandaid on your nose and trickling down your cheek. Damn, she really did gnaw pretty fucking deep. You take a look at yourself in the mirror Vriska was previously standing proudly in front of, taking note of how positively wrecked you look. It sure would be hard to explain this conundrum to your co-workers. With any luck, most of them would be busy taking care of actual clients.  
Glancing at the doorway of your office once again, you find yourself feeling strangely empty, and definitely drained as hell. If you were to guess which of the trolls had the ability to literally drain the life force out of a dude, your first guess would be Kanaya, because she’s literally a vampire or whatever. But Vriska’s definitely a close second.  
Trying to repress the events of this session in record time, you gather your things and consider what you still have left to do before returning home. Given the state of your office and the strikingly blue stain on your stupid blindingly white futon, you decide that there’s nothing left here for you. Nothing of any value, emotional or otherwise, that is. You might as well set the room on fire and start all over again.  
Making yourself look as presentable as possible given the fact your nose is bleeding all over the damn place and your pants look as if you murdered a whole town of Smurfs, you gather your things and take your leave, hoping Vriska Serket would somehow magically forget your phone number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel it's necessary to explain that this whole thing came from a fucking rp. A terrible, terrible rp. But hey, on the bright side, I'm actually writing something. Anyways, look forward to more of this shit, I guess. Trust me, it only gets worse.


	4. Chapter 4

# Intermission

**Y**ou trudge up the staircase leading to your apartment, your legs, mind, heart, and soul heavy as bricks. And yeah, sure, you're just about the strongest motherfucker to have ever lived in both mind and body, step aside Hulk Hogan. But you're almost positive even good ol' Hogan has his days. Despite your fatigue, you know you're still a goddamn treasure. That's right, Strider, gotta keep it positive.  
The bandaid on your nose slips from its perch once again— absolutely glistening with your sweat, blood, and oils— and tumbles to the ground like a depressed slice of deli meat. You stare at the defective little bastard for some time, and your sunglasses begin to slide down the bridge of your nose to meet the same, greasy fate. That bandaid really does tell a whole story in itself. The pool of crimson blood basically drenching the damn thing, the smudges of blue lipstick, the sweat and grease stains— it's a pretty good summary, in your opinion. 'Show, don't tell', and all of that.  
You give your shades a little push back in the right direction, bending down to pick up your nauseating bandaid while you're at it. Yeah, it feels about as disgusting between your fingers as one would expect a tiny, blood-soaked piece of cotton to feel. There will be no description here, just imagine it for yourself.  
Shoving the bandaid in your pocket with one hand and retrieving your keys with the other, your journey finally draws to a close. As you approach the door to your apartment, you choose not to reflect upon the events of your day, because they suck, and you'd rather do the healthy thing and repress them as soon as possible. As soon as you cross the threshold of your apartment, today will be thrown out of your memory bank like the alcoholic, freeloading ex-lover that it is.  
You shuffle inside your modest domain, letting out a sigh of relief the moment your eyes aren't met with the familiar setting. As always, it's as dark as Jared Leto's career in here. Tossing your keys on the kitchen counter, you allow yourself a moment to properly groan. God, you really needed some self-care time, you're not afraid to admit it. Maybe you'll sit in the bath for five hours and just stare at the wall, remind yourself why you're still alive. Maybe throw a bath bomb into the equation, get fuckin’ wild with it. All you know is that if someone so much as looks in your direction within the next 24 hours, you might just have a mental breakdown.

KARKAT: DAVE.  
KARKAT: EXPLAIN TO ME WHAT THE FUCK I'M LOOKING AT.  
KARKAT: WHAT ABSOLUTELY PUTRID SIGHT ARE MY LOOKSTUBS BEHOLDING.

Oh god, you're actually going to cry.  
Yet again, a huge lapse in judgement to forget that Karkat gets back from his own "job" (the quotes are an extremely important distinction— he leaves the house only to do the most menial tasks, such as gossiping with Kanaya about how things are going in terms of troll population culmination efforts over tea) earlier than you do. You hadn't mentally prepared yourself for this interaction in the slightest. You might just pass out where you stand and hope for the best.

DAVE: man ive had a long ass day i cant be doing this shit right now  
DAVE: i mean really on any other day id humor this outrageously funny banter between two bros but not today man

You begin to trudge towards the bathroom like the lifeless corpse you are, but naturally Karkat is faster. Seriously, he’s got the reflexes of a cat on crack which, when you think about it, seems pretty applicable to Karkat’s personality anyways. His claws dig into your shoulder, and he pulls you back towards the kitchen, stepping between yourself and your path to isolation. His jaw is set, and his thick eyebrows are furrowed so deeply that if you hadn’t seen otherwise prior, you wouldn’t be too sure he even has two separate brows in the first place. If you hadn’t known Karkat for as long as you had, and if your soul wasn’t already traversing its way to hell while your consciousness slowly slips away from you, you might’ve been just barely intimidated by the unsettling glint in his eyes.

KARKAT: OH NO, I DON’T FUCKING THINK SO.  
KARKAT: THERE IS NO FUCKING WAY IN HELL YOU’RE LEAVING THIS ROOM WITHOUT GIVING ME ANSWERS TO MY BURNING QUESTIONS,  
STRIDER.  
KARKAT: I PUT UP WITH A LOT OF YOUR BULLSHIT, BUT I REFUSE TO BE  
LEFT IN THE DARK WHEN IT COMES TO YOU WALTZING INTO OUR HIVE LOOKING LIKE THIS.

You let out a heavy sigh. What were you expecting, honestly? You should’ve stopped by a Troll Walgreens to wash yourself off in a public bathroom or something, maybe picked out some new clothes at the very least. Of course, given the amount of disgusted and even mildly aroused looks you got from some passing trolls on your way back home (what an uncomfortable experience, by the way,) you likely smell as if someone dumped a whole load of cerulean troll hormones on you as some sort of cruel prank. Trolls have the whole intense pheromones thing going on, right? That sounds like a very troll thing.

DAVE: look i get where youre coming from but im kinda busy trying to get my chill on and ignore all of the bullshit  
i went through today  
DAVE: ill have to catch you up on workspace drama later if thats cool with you  
KARKAT: IT ABSOLUTELY IS NOT “COOL WITH ME.”  
KARKAT: YOU CAN’T JUST COME BACK HERE LOOKING LIKE THIS AND EXPECT ME TO BE TOTALLY “COOL” WITH IT.  
KARKAT: I WANT FUCKING ANSWERS, STRIDER, YOU LOOK LIKE YOU FUCKED AROUND IN THE WRONG PART OF TOWN AND WERE  
SUBSEQUENTLY DRENCHED WITH THE CONTENTS OF SOME HIGHBLOOD’S FILIAL PAIL.

He basically hit the nail on the head, if you’re being honest. At least, that’s pretty synonymous with what really went down. Noting your lack of a snarky come back, Karkat seems to connect the dots.

KARKAT: DAVE.  
KARKAT: DO NOT FUCKING TELL ME THIS HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH VRISKA.  
KARKAT: WHAT AM I SAYING, OF COURSE IT DOES, THIS HAS “VRISKA” WRITTEN ALL OVER IT IN BIG, CERULEAN-REPRODUCTIVE  
-SLURRY LETTERS WITH EIGHT OBNOXIOUS SHOUT POLES!

In that instance, Karkat retracts his hands from your shoulders, and introduces them to his face in a friendly hand-on-face high-five. An understandable reaction, but not nearly as justified as you’d be if you were the one doing that. Which you should be, because again, you went through some serious shit this afternoon. You could’ve been playing Mario Kart all day and drinking Mountain Dew, but no, instead you had the brilliant idea of setting up a therapist's office for yourself just to prove a point. And as always, the point was blown straight out of the water and was instead replaced with an aquatic arachnid who yearned for your ‘pleasure tube’, or whatever trolls like to call genitalia.

KARKAT: I JUST CANNOT FATHOM WHAT POSSIBLY COULD’VE MADE YOU THINK THAT HAVING SOME WEIRD SEXUAL ENCOUNTER— WITH  
VRISKA OF ALL PEOPLE— WAS A GOOD IDEA.  
DAVE: bro the fact that you think i intended for this to happen is honestly the worst insult ive been dealt in the longest time  
DAVE: and as we are both unfortunately aware i just spent the day with the woman in question who is notorious for  
being a huge bitch

Hoping to finally get your chill on and escape this dreadful conversation as soon as possible, you slip past a now fuming Karkat, your sights set on the bathroom which is just barely out of reach. Before you can grab sweet freedom by the balls however, you feel Karkat's claws once again digging into your shoulder, and God do you have a newfound hatred for those things. They're like thick, flaming needles.

KARKAT: STRIDER, YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT I FIND THIS GAME THAT YOU AND ROSE PLAY TO BE UNBELIEVABLY CHILDISH AND AN  
ABSOLUTE WASTE OF TIME.

You do your best to crane your head back over your shoulder. He looks calmer now, but it's still very evident that he will not be taking any jokey bullshit at the moment. Unfortunately, you've never been good at anything other than joking about uncomfortable situations.

DAVE: bro what is life but one huge game amirite

Karkat's claws dig deeper into your squishy, human flesh as you make one last futile attempt to flee to the bathroom.

KARKAT: STRIDER. LOUNGEPLANK. NOW.

Your shoulders instinctively slouch with defeat, your brows furrowing slightly. Karkat begins to drag you (by your bleeding shoulder) to the aforementioned couch.

DAVE: i mean you couldve just said you wanted to get freaky dude   
DAVE: no need for all that rough foreplay— ow

As blood seeps through your very cool and fancy dress shirt, you find yourself wondering why you decided to live with a claw-bearing alien-mammal. This was basically the same choice as inviting a huffy, greyscale lion with horns to live with you. He shoves you roughly onto the couch, taking a seat on the loveseat across from you with his arms crossed. Your deep, crimson blood is dripping steadily off of his claws and staining his pants. 

KARKAT: NOW, TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED. AND FURTHERMORE, _WHY THE FUCK_ WHATEVER HAPPENED, HAPPENED.

You can't help but let out an exasperated sigh as you let your head drop dramatically between your slumping shoulders. After a few additional moments of silence, you swallow your pride and decide to spill your guts, and the equally-as-gory events of the day, to your feral roommate. The therapist has become the therapee. Therapy? Wow, that's crazy.  
Anyways, by the end of your sob-story, Karkat has fallen completely silent. Damn, if all it took to get him to shut up was a wild, wacky, lustful tale about being seduced by Vriska Serket, you would've made up a story like that a long time ago. That would've been much more preferable to actually going through it, you think.  
After twiddling your thumbs a bit and ruminating in the silence like an asshole, Karkat finally speaks up.

KARKAT: WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU.

Oh, if only you knew the answer to that. You'd talked to so many professionals (your sister when she was drunk at John's 25th birthday shindig,) and yet no one could seem to give you a solid analysis. No one could get their filthy mitts on your brain and actually come up with any theory that was even remotely salvageable. Your mind is an anomaly; it's as perplexing as a hedge maze within a royal garden. Truly, you are one of life's most challenging mysteries. You're just too cool and mysterious, and yet, so broken—

KARKAT: DAVE I SWEAR TO GOD, STOP INTERNALLY MONOLOGUING AND TELL ME HOW YOU INTEND TO SOLVE THIS GIANT PILE OF  
HOOFBEAST MANURE OF A SITUATION.

You shake yourself out of your totally awesome monologue and decide that, yeah, maybe it's time to get serious.

DAVE: look i genuinely dont know how to handle this situation  
DAVE: i was hoping my honesty would inspire some sort of empathy and genius within you and then youd solve  
all my problems

Look, you're not great at being serious. Karkat spares no time rolling his eyes. You've definitely seen him roll harder, but this level of exasperation is certainly nothing to sneeze at. You'd give it a 7/10 on the eyeroll scale.

KARKAT: OH GOD, SHUT THE FUCK UP. I DIDN'T START THIS PETTY GAME WITH ROSE, YOU DID. THIS IS UP TO YOU TO SOLVE.  
NO MATTER HOW DEEP THIS SHIT GETS, IT'S UP TO YOU TO SOLVE.

Without another word, Karkat stands up and heads towards his room, his arms still crossed stiffly. If you didn't know any better, you'd say something is definitely on his mind. Were you a lot less exhausted, you might even attempt to tease it out of 'im. The smartest option would be to leave him alone for the time being, but you aren't all that smart, and you love to give Karkat a hard time. No matter how tired you are, you always have time to tease that hardass.

DAVE: oh so you can leave a conversation whenever you want but thats not an option for me?  
KARKAT: GO FUCK YOURSELF, STRIDER.  
DAVE: so cruel bro  
DAVE: why should i do that when i could just fuck you instead

You hear him stop dead in his tracks. Whatever gets his attention, you guess. You throw a sly smirk over your shoulder, finally noting Karkat's stiff stance. He slowly turns around, and interestingly enough, his face is beet red.

KARKAT: YOU. ARE. INSUFFERABLE.  
DAVE: i am an aching man karkat  
DAVE: ive had quite a day and i have to say i dont much appreciate your heckling  
DAVE: what ever did i do to you to warrant such heartbreaking verbal abuse  
DAVE: dont tell me youre jealous of all the strider action vriskas getting  
DAVE: i mean i gotta say karkat, thats kinda cute and i cant blame you  
DAVE: if i wasnt getting enough of my own attention id be pretty P.O.'d too—

Before you can ramble on for another paragraph or longer, Karkat grabs you roughly by the collar of your shitty dress shirt and pulls you in for a rather intense kiss, complete with snarling and, occasionally, biting.  
Now, you honestly weren't expecting this response from him. You definitely got some pretty intense sexual energy running between the two of you, but wow, you didn't expect this to be the breaking point.  
The lack of oxygen must really be getting to you, because you're surprisingly unphased by the taste of your own blood trickling from your lip onto your tongue. He keeps your lips locked together for far too long, to the point that you are gasping for air as soon as he releases you from this surprise death trap.  
You're utterly frazzled, and you can't even bring yourself to fix your now-crooked shades which are just barely perched upon your nose. Goddamn it, you're sweating like a fucking pig, and that sure isn't doing your tender, open nose-wound any favors. Despite the utter confusion and pain you're being overwhelmed with (why do trolls like biting you so much?) you'd be lying if you said that you weren't pretty damn aroused right now.

KARKAT: IF STICKING YOUR DISGUSTING HUMAN GENITALIA INSIDE OF MY NOOK WILL MAKE YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP AND STOP BEING  
SO DAMN AWKWARD, THEN LET'S GET THIS OVER WITH.

All you can manage to do is stare in awe with your mouth agape, looking utterly braindead. You can't imagine it's all that attractive, and you also don't doubt that Karkat will leave at any second if you don't start taking action.

>GO, WHITE BOY, GO!

Let's just say you take a leap of fate that involves something along the lines of ripping a certain troll's clothes off in a totally sexy way. The events that preceded this command will be left mostly to the imagination. Just know that you have finally been distracted from the witch's (thief's?) curse placed upon you earlier, and you got to blow a sick load in a bro, in a totally bro-like manner. A true bro helps his bro get off after they've had a rough day, that's just a part of the bro code. Nothing homoerotic about it.  
If you think about it hard enough, while you're still splayed out on the couch panting in pure bliss, maybe this experience was a way to get all your troll-related sexual fantasies out of your system. Come tomorrow, you won't be tricked into being even slightly aroused by Vriska Serket. The thought itself is incredibly stupid and unbelievable, and yet you'd be lying if you said you hadn't felt some flickers of attraction to her repeated proposals from time to time. Whatever lapse in judgement had occurred then, it wouldn't happen again.  
You're Dave Strider, and you are going to be a reputable, respected, not inherently sexy therapist just to make a stupid fucking point to your sister, you swear on it. Vriska was simply a premature boss fight. If you can sit through a successful session with her, you could do anything. You're really gonna die both by sticking to your whole 'ironic' persona and by trying to prove a point that you don't even actually care about making that much, aren't you?  
Well, if you didn't, you wouldn't be Dave Strider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to make it clear that the formatting is for the computer browser version of AO3, and looks like shit on the mobile version. Just to be utterly transparent. Anyways, here's the update I've let sit collecting dust for a while.


End file.
